If Only
by skag trendy
Summary: Post Sam’s disastrous food run... Sam’s leg was in a cast, his head hurt… and he really wanted that glass of water. Oh, and Dean was angry with him. Again.
1. Chapter 1

**If only**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_If only they'd ordered pizza._

_Dean would give anything for a do-over._

_Limp Sam and major guilty Dean._

_Set season 2, not long after John's death._

_NB: Before anyone starts having a go, this is AU. I __**know**__ this would never have passed through Dean's mind. Just a little fic experiment. And if people like it, I might be persuaded to continue._

_A short angsty little story written during a break from the werewolf fic._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Your turn for the food run." Dean didn't even glance up from the TV, content to watch the reruns of MASH and leave things alone as usual.

Sam sighed, feeling drained beyond belief. They'd been on the road for more days than he could count, and frankly, he was getting sick of it. Sick of the scenery, sick of the shitty fast food, and more importantly, sick of Dean's even shittier attitude. Nothing had really been resolved between the boys, in spite of Sam's best efforts; even the novelty born of the fully restored and gleaming Impala had worn off, leaving an older brother who could easily have given Oscar the Grouch a run for his money. Complete with a sawn-off and sharp knives. The only reprieves were the hunts, and some of those were pretty dismal. Fighting off restless, angry spirits probably wasn't the best way to deal with losing their father, but it was all they knew, and they couldn't stop now.

Sam really thought they'd been making some headway after Gordon. Clearly he'd been wrong.

"What do you want?" Sam kept it short these days. Dean didn't have the patience for conversations that lasted any longer than four or five words. Unless it was a hunt.

"Cheese burger, extra onions, pie."

_Yep, _Sam counted in his head, sadly, _five words exactly this time._

"Pass me the car keys?" Sam waited, fully expecting a jingling mass of metal to come sailing across the room. It hadn't occurred to him this would be his first time behind the wheel since the crash.

Dean's response, however, suggested _he'd _thought about it all right. His head shot up and cold green eyes levelled with Sam's blue-green gaze.

"You got legs, Sam. Walk!"

Sam gaped. "Dude, it's like five below freezing out there!"

"Walk fast." Dean insisted sharply. "It'll warm you up."

"Food'll get cold…" Sam tried again, hearing the wind moaning round the motel, a cold draft winding its way through the gap under the door. He shivered lightly at just the thought of being out there.

His argument clearly wasn't working, however, judging from the way Dean upped the wattage of his glare.

"You think I'm letting you anywhere _near_ the driver's seat? After what happened last time?"

Sam flinched and visibly paled at the reminder. The youngest Winchester had been the one behind the wheel when the semi ploughed into them, virtually destroying the Impala. Yeah, he'd felt responsible as hell for it, but he'd never gotten the impression Dean blamed him. Until now.

"You… you really b-blame me for that?" He whispered forlornly, eyes widening with hurt.

"Just… go get the food, Sam." Dean barely spared him a look before mumbling "too icy to drive anyhow."

Fighting the urge to sniff miserably, while biting down hard on his trembling lower lip, Sam quietly opened the motel room door, and left without a word.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It came out of nowhere. One minute he was standing on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the street, and the next he was bouncing aimlessly across someone's car hood, and experiencing what he could only describe as a _cracking_ pain in his head. As he rolled off the hood and landed heavily on icy cold, hard tarmac, another sharp pain in his left leg had him crying out.

He blinked hard, trying to clear his wavering vision, and someone appeared in his line of sight, gazing down at him worriedly. The person, _woman_, was talking to him, but he couldn't hear a damn thing over the ringing in his ears.

His head hurt. Thought processes were firing, but out of order, and there was something important he had to do.

_Brother._

The word was jumping up and down, screaming at him.

_Dean_.

Sam blinked again and struggled to sit up, fighting the gentle hands trying to push him back down. There were more people standing over him by now, all with that same guarded concern etched on their faces, and his hearing seemed to be making a comeback in fits and starts.

"… don't move… hit your head… ambulance…"

That last word made sense to Sam and he didn't like it.

"No…" he whispered, breathless with pain. "N-no ambulance. I'll b-be f-fine."

Sam, to the surprise of all, finally lurched to his feet, and someone grabbed his arm to steady him.

_Oh yeah sure. You'll be fine_. Sneered his inner voice when the world began to spin lightly.

"I really think you should stay still and wait for the medics to exam you, sweetie." The woman sounded a little clearer by now and Sam got a good look at her.

_Middle-aged beauty, nice dress sense, clean nails_, he noted absentmindedly, not sure why his brain could note something like that when everything else was going to pot.

"M'ok." He whispered again. But apparently that was all he could manage right now.

The woman smiled sadly.

"I'm so sorry. My car slid on a patch of ice and I just couldn't get it back under control."

Sam squinted at her.

"S-stepped on r-road? M-my f-fault?" He muttered wearily, and shivered in the cold.

"No! No, absolutely not. You were on the side walk…"

That was all Sam needed to know. There was an accident, but it wasn't his fault, therefore not his problem. He was _kind of _aware that perhaps he wasn't thinking straight but no longer cared, because now he remembered what he'd come out for.

And he suddenly experienced a sense of desperation unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

_Dean wanted food. My turn. Have to get Dean his food._

Sam felt like a little boy who'd become separated from his family, and lost his way in the supermarket. He didn't know who to trust or where to go.

_My brother's around here somewhere, right? He'll find me. Dean won't let anything happen to me._

"Sweetie, you're cold and hurt. Let the medics take care of you." Came that woman's voice again.

But Sam had other ideas. Sort of. He shook his head slowly and stumbled away, hissing at the pain in his left leg.

"G-gotta g-get m'brother his f-food." Sam mumbled through teeth that were beginning to chatter rather alarmingly by now.

_Dean won't let anything happen to me…_

But memories were swirling round, confusing and frightening him. And his head still hurt.

_Dean shouting, furious, __punching __him._

_Dean's mad at me._

Another horrific memory quite literally crashed into him, nearly flooring him.

_Hurt his car._

_Dad's car once._

Sam's eyes filled with tears and he felt his heart breaking.

_Dean doesn't care._

The Impala.

_Dean hates me._

Blinking the tears away, Sam struggled onwards and the small crowd gradually dispersed, leaving the woman staring after him helplessly.

_If I get Dean his food, maybe he won't hate me anymore._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

A loud grumbling in his stomach distracted him, and Dean glanced at his watch for the first time since Sam went on the food run.

_Damn! _He was getting hungry, and no doubt his little brother was off sulking somewhere, determined to make Dean wait it out. This was Sam's childish way of getting his own back for not letting him take the car.

_Do the kid good, getting some fresh air. Pasty faced little shit!_

Dean felt the tiniest twinge of guilt start to grow and flourish, and not just at sending his brother out into the cold.

Did he really need to say that to him? That he pretty much held him responsible...

_Oh God._

That was as good as telling Sam he was responsible for Dad's death.

_Bad move. Not good._

_Understatement you asshole!_

As is mostly the case with guilt, Dean tried to justify his actions.

Seriously, the kid was grating on his nerves, with those pleading puppy dog eyes, and the not-so-subtle attempts to talk about their late father.

Sam seemed to take any exchange of dialogue as an open invitation to discuss things Dean really would rather _not_ discuss. So in an attempt to get some peace, Dean had kept communication down to a bare minimum. He'd shut himself off from his kid brother for the time being, until he was ready to deal.

He glanced at his watch again and frowned.

_Sam's been gone a while now._

Out came his cell phone, and Dean jabbed away at his contacts list.

"C'mon Sammy pick up!" Dean muttered, caught between worry and anger at his kid brother. But the call went unanswered.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"What can I getcha?"

Sam blinked at the cheerful old guy behind the counter, not sure he understood the question.

"Hey!" Now the guy was snapping his fingers under Sam's nose in annoyance, but that annoyance soon turned to mild concern when Sam swayed violently. "You ok there buddy?"

The smell of cooked food was making Sam's gut churn, and there was a distinct possibility the cheap lino would be wearing its meagre contents very soon.

Sam swallowed back bile like a trooper, and nodded carefully. A memory of his brother's food order stood out clear against the murky backdrop of some far more unpleasant ones.

"Ch-cheese b-burger." Sam whispered slowly, still shivering in spite of the heat coming from the kitchens. "Onions. P-pie."

"What kinda pie?" The guy, Chip, according to his nametag, watched his customer carefully.

Sam began to panic. "Uh… Idunnoheneversaid…"

"Alright buddy, just calm down" Chip softened his voice. Clearly he was dealing with some poor mentally disturbed patient. _They should never be allowed out on their own. _"Let's just settle on apple, ok? Always a favourite."

Sam nodded sadly without saying a word, just stood there, head bowed in shame. He no idea what to do or say, but this Chip seemed nice enough.

Chip sighed heavily. _M'not paid enough for this. Should really be calling in some help for him._

But there was something about the kid.

He rounded the counter and gently grabbed the boy's arm, leading him over to some plastic seats by the window.

"Why don't you sit here for now, and I'll call you when your order's ready, ok?"

The kid raised his head and fix him with such a sweet and grateful gaze, that old Chip couldn't help but beam at him before heading back to the counter.

A few minutes later, Chip brought over a large brown bag, and settled it in Sam's lap.

"There ya go kid. And there's an extra piece of pie in there, but don't tell no one or they'll all want some." He stared at the kid's face, wondering about the bruises.

"Th-thank you," Sam muttered and fumbled in his pockets with shaky hands, pulling out some notes. He stared hard at the cash, vision blurring, unable to tell one from another. He felt sure there'd been a ten and a twenty in there at some stage.

In the end he dumped the whole lot in a surprised Chip's hands, lurched to his feet and headed out the diner door before anyone could stop him.

"Hey kid! That's too much...!"

But once outside, he staggered away, and was presented with a problem.

Slowly shuffling round, head spinning, stomach still threatening to revolt, Sam's eyes once again filled with tears.

_Where do I go? I don't even know where Dean is!_

Something in his jacket pocket chirped loudly and Sam nearly dropped the bag of food in shock.

Pulling out the offending article, Sam stared at it.

_Cell phone_, his fuzzy brain supplied him with the information a little belatedly.

The tiny screen revealed a name.

_Dean._

Sam huffed miserably and hugged the cooling bag of food close to his chest. Dean was going to kill him.

Too scared to answer, Sam shoved the phone back in his pocket and limped away down the sidewalk, shivering harshly in the cold. He hoped and prayed he'd find something familiar that would lead him back to his brother.

_I'm so confused... and God! So scared!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was exhausted by the time he found the right place. It seemed to have taken forever but here he was, and his brother was on the other side of the door, waiting for his food.

His now _stone cold_ food.

Sam leaned up against the motel room door, head resting against the frame for a second while he pulled himself together, just _knowing_ he was in the shit for real this time.

He reached out with a shaky hand and grasped the door knob.

_At least I'm home._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was about to try Sam's cell again, but leapt to his feet when he heard the door open. He didn't wait for an explanation, just launched right into an angry tirade the minute Sam's face appeared.

"Where the hell have you been Sam?! And next time _answer your godamned phone when I call you!_"

And, once his little speech was over, he knew something was wrong. The kid limped on by, dumping a greasy brown bag on Dean's bed. He finished his difficult journey by slumping dejectedly on his own bed, keeping his back to the room. Sam's head was tucked right down, shoulders shivering, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly. His brother winced at the sound. "Sammy what's wrong?"

Striding over and gently cupping Sam's chin, Dean tilted his face up and gasped when unfocussed, uneven pupils gazed up at him, and there were fresh bruises forming on his jaw and cheek to consider.

_I don't remember doin' that!_

"Shit Sam, what the hell happened to you?"

Sam blinked heavily, and promptly slid right off the bed, much to Dean's shock.

"Whoa! Easy kiddo." Lifting him up and sitting him back on the bed was a challenge in itself, given Sam's bulk and height, but Dean soon managed it, carefully keeping the boy upright so he could examine him.

Cradling Sam's head, Dean's fingers soon found a large bump crusted over with dried blood, right at the base of his skull. The kid flinched and whimpered in pain, eyes filling with tears.

"Ok." Dean smiled softly and nodded. "It's ok. Let's get you cleaned up huh buddy? See what damage you've done."

Sam just gazed back at him unsteadily, eyes fighting to stay open, as though he didn't have a clue what his brother was saying.

"Can you hear me, Sammy?"

Dean chewed on his bottom lip and decided to have another try.

"Sam, can you tell me what happened?" He spoke slowly and clearly, keeping his voice soft and calm, and a light appeared to go on behind his brother's eyes.

"S…s'mon h-hit m'withacar." Sam slurred out painfully slow, eyes heavy with fatigue.

Dean frowned as he took that in.

"You mean, you were knocked down?"

Sam let out a small half sob, half giggle.

"Yeeaahh. S'ons'walk. Carsli…ice…" He winced again and, suddenly, all the blood draining from his face had Dean reaching out to the waste bin with lightening quick reflexes, and shoving it under Sam's nose.

As his brother let loose the contents of his stomach, Dean tried not to grimace at the bitter smell.

But he'd sure figured out what Sam was trying to tell him.

A car had slid on a patch of ice and ploughed straight into his little brother.

And it wouldn't have happened if...

_Oh God Sammy, I'm so sorry._

For all he knew, the kid could be badly hurt with internal injuries, maybe a cracked skull, and when he first entered the room – _I yelled at him!_ - Sam had been limping badly.

Glancing down at the kid's legs, Dean reached out and tentatively pressed both his hands along Sam's jeans, until his brother cried out in pain.

"Sorry kiddo."

The area on Sam's left shin under the denim was hot, swollen and obviously tender.

There was nothing for it. Sam needed a hospital and quickly.

But before he could do anything, Sam whimpered and turned his bewildered gaze on Dean once again.

"D-Deeaann… s-sooorrrrryyyy… gotyaffoood...colddddd"

The boy tipped forward at the same time as his eyes slipped back in his head.

But Dean was ready and caught him before he hit the floor, wrapping Sam up in his arms.

"I'm the one who should be sayin' that Sammy." Dean sniffed sadly and once again pulled out his cell, speed dialling 911. "You got nothing to be sorry for."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"You can go in now."

Dean looked up from his tightly folded hands to stare at Sam's nurse, then peered anxiously at the door to Sam's room.

"He ok? I mean, is he awake?"

The nurse nodded. "He's settled, but groggy." She smiled reassuringly. "He's been asking for you. Got quite upset when he woke up and you weren't there."

Dean got to his feet, still feeling nervous, and took a deep breath before moving forward.

Stepping closer to the bed, he studied Sam's face, pale, almost grey against the pillow, but mostly hidden by the mask covering his mouth and nose. Humidified oxygen hissed quietly as his brother breathed in slowly but surely, and soft bleeps from the cardiac monitor told Dean it was ok to relax. Sam really was still alive.

Careful not to dislodge any wires or IVs, Dean perched on the edge of the bed, and ran his fingers gently through the kid's soft hair, smiling when confused, sleepy eyes opened.

"Hey kiddo," Dean whispered. "How ya feeling?"

Sam blinked slowly. "M'ok." His answer was slow coming and muffled by the oxygen mask, but it was there. "Whenwel-leeeeaving?"

Dean frowned. "Not for a little while yet Sam. You got a bad concussion and a hair-line fracture to ya shin bone. Not to mention hypothermia. You're…_we're _lucky ya still here at all. Let's just take it slow, huh? One day at a time, dude."

And if his voice turned a little shaky towards the end of his little speech, Sam didn't seem to notice.

"Y-yooouuu okkkk Deeean?" Sam slurred out. "Ca…can't 'member much. Car okkk?"

Dean stiffened up a little, until he realised Sam was genuinely struggling to remember what happened to him.

"Wasn't there Sam." Dean shook his head, eyes never leaving his brother's. "You went out to get food." Tears suddenly spilled down the older brother's face. "I sent you out and I shoulda gone with you, but I let you go off all alone. You got hit by a car…_I'm so damn sorry kiddo!_"

Sam's eyes widened at Dean's outburst, and reached out to gently squeeze his hand.

"N-not yaffffaullllttt." He was feeling tired again, eyelids drooping, mind going fuzzy, but Sam fought to stay awake, desperate to comfort his brother. "Yooouuu geeetttyaaa foooddd? Chiiippp... piiiieeee..."

The bag of take out was still sitting in their motel room, grown cold long ago. But Dean still smiled. For some reason it seemed the most important thing in the world to Sam right now.

"Yeah Sammy. Ya did good. Tasted great." Dean still stroked Sam's hair. "Get some sleep kiddo."

His brother kept staring at him with such sadness, that Dean was a total loss.

"Just relax. _Rest_ now." Knowing that Sam was too groggy, wouldn't remember, Dean planted a gentle kiss on his little brother's head. "We'll be ok Sam. We'll be ok I promise."

He watched as his little brother finally succumbed.

_Someday soon I'm gonna have to tell you what he said..._

Dean sniffed softly.

_But next time we order in pizza little brother._

_ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss_


	2. Chapter 2

**If Only**

**Chapter two.**

**Post Sam's disastrous food run...**

**Sam's leg was in a cast, his head hurt… and he **_**really**_** wanted that glass of water. **

**Oh, and Dean's angry with him. Again.**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

**By popular demand…**

_**Author's notes: Many thanks for all your reviews and I apologise for the delay with this chapter, but the werewolf fic has pretty much dominated all my spare time!**_

**_I feel you also need an apology in advance. This wasn't quite what I'd hoped._**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam awoke to muffled voices on the other side of the door. It sounded like Dean and his doctor were involved in post fever discussions.

Well, technically Sam was still in _mid-_fever. His temperature had finally abated under the aggressive treatment with broad spectrum antibiotics, and so his recovery continued, but at a frustratingly _slow_ rate.

He was thirsty.

There was a water jug on the night stand, taunting him with its precious burden, as did the plastic cup sitting next to it. But he'd already tried reaching for it, to no avail.

Sinking back into his pillows, Sam blinked heavily at the room, and reflected that if it hadn't been for the food, this place could have grown on him. But he sure didn't want to stick around here for much longer.

His first chance at freedom had quickly dissolved before he even had the chance to fully appreciate it.

The release papers had been placed on the roll-away table, just within hands reach. Pen at the ready, Sam had eagerly leaned forward at the same time his doctor re-entered the room, eyes narrowed with concern, big _smug_ brother following on behind.

A cool hand on his forehead, a few uttered words of "pyrexia", "possible pneumonia", and the release papers quickly disappeared back into the physician's pocket.

Sam's puppy dog eyes had followed them, mouth dropped open in dismay. But slowly, acceptance set in.

He'd hidden it well, even from his brother, but Sam finally had to admit it; he felt like warmed-over dog crap.

What Sam didn't know about, however, was Dean's responsibility in his continued incarceration. Dean, ever-observant and over-protective, had known, even before Sam, that his kid brother wasn't going anywhere.

The over-bright eyes, and pale skin, glistening from a faint sheen of perspiration under the reading lamp over Sam's bed, hadn't been the only clue.

Dean was an expert at all things Sammy, and knew a _sick_ Sammy when he saw him. Or rather, _heard_ him. Sam went from one extreme to another in a decent space of time. One minute he was talking quite normally, but gradually deteriorated into a babble that made no sense whatsoever, and the next moment he was silent, sullen, and exhausted.

Oh, and the nicely cultivated hacking cough every time Sam tried to breathe in was a bit of a giveaway.

_Hospital acquired infections_, Sam thought morosely, _gotta hate the bastards_.

No way was Sam leaving the hospital like this, even if Dean had to handcuff him to the bed rails. And with an amused gleam in his eye, he'd held up two sets of metal cuffs and threatened just that.

That hadn't gone over well. But Sam, on one hundred per cent oxygen, and both lungs riddled with a pneumococcal infection, could do little about it. And besides, the fever was making him dizzy and sick. _Real_ sick.

So much so, he didn't really remember much around the height of the fever, unsurprisingly.

But Dean sure did.

And though he'd never admit it aloud, even with Sam now sitting up in bed, looking a few steps further away from death, and complaining about the food, it still scared the shit out of him. Watching his little brother in so much pain and suffering, gasping and fighting to breathe, hearing the tortured sound of oxygen being dragged into a set of lungs that were barely cooperating… yeah, as far as Dean was concerned, any hunting jobs from now on would be a stroll in the park compared to that.

Compared to seeing his little brother nearly lose the battle.

But that was _nearly_ a week ago, and Sam was about ready to walk out, papers or not. His leg and lungs ached, and his head throbbed, but he was _so_ ready to leave.

Once again eyeing the plastic cup of water on the night stand, Sam unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, and stretched out a hand. But the damn thing was still just beyond his reach. Someone had kindly put it there for when he woke up, but clearly hadn't thought through the basic ergonomics of his situation.

Sam had long arms. But when his body was tucked deeply into a soft, warm bed, casted leg supported by several pillows... perhaps an orang-utan might have struggled. But the young Winchester wasn't put off, however.

He really needed that water.

Shuffling over to the edge of the bed, he swung his legs over, paying extra care and attention to the injured one, and, licking his lips eagerly, he reached out again, until his shaking fingers just brushed the clear plastic.

Unfortunately, as is so often the case for a Winchester, it didn't go according to plan, and the half full cup slipped off the nightstand, hit the floor with a bounce and a loud _thup!_,spraying water everywhere.

Sam sighed quietly.

The muffled conversation outside the room halted briefly, then continued as before.

The cup rolled around on the floor in a circle, until it came to rest, once again just beyond Sam's reach.

And wasn't that just the story of Sam's life?

_Everything _he wanted was out of reach.

Safety, normalcy, _Jess._

Even his dad was dead and gone, with no chance at repairing their little family unit, and pushing onwards, _together_, into the coming war.

_And don't I just sound like a whiney little bitch? Guess Dean's right about me. Always has been._

Sam blinked back the threatening tears, and set his jaw in determination.

So he couldn't put his brother back together, couldn't bring his mom and dad back from the dead, and he sure as hell couldn't turn back time and save his baby girl from a fiery death.

But he _could_ get himself a drink of water.

If he could manage just _that_, maybe things would start to look a little less bleak.

He just needed that damn cup and water jug, and he'd been home free.

Sam could take back _some _control over his miserable life.

Slowly pushing up off the bed, and gingerly allowing some weight to settle on his injured limb, Sam half-limped, half-shuffled forward. Once he reached the end of the nightstand, he swallowed hard, and began to bend, carefully, fingers outstretched, gently grasping at the rim of the cup.

He almost had it, but his foot slipped on the spilled water and went out from under him with a loud _squeak!_

Sam went down like a giant redwood, the back of his head thumping the floor hard enough to cause a starburst behind his eyes.

The pounding pain in his head almost smothered the noise of someone entering his room, and the sound of that same someone cursing loudly.

_"Godammit Sammy! What the hell did you think you were doing?!"_

A faint and embarrassing whimper left Sam's mouth when gentle hands palmed his face, fingers carefully threading through his hair and testing the back of his skull, searching for injury. Sam cracked open eyes he didn't remember closing and met a furious green gaze boring into him.

_Dean_.

His brother.

And boy. Did he look _pissed!_

He also appeared to be ranting, and Sam found that hilarious 'cos he couldn't hear a thing. At least, not above the road drill in his head.

It was when those gently questing fingers found a particularly tender spot, Sam let out a gasp, and a sharp pain sent him spiralling into darkness.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was finally glad the doctor was called away, because he didn't want Sam to wake up alone, but his head was spinning from useless medical knowledge he'd probably never use.

And to think, all he asked for was some advice on losing a painful verruca.

Instead of a simple, straight answer, Dean found himself on the receiving end of a government health and safety lecture he really could have done without. He didn't _use _public showers or swimming baths, he didn't share towels, and he certainly never borrowed someone else's pumice stone.

_And what in hell's a pumice stone?_

But this was Sam's doctor, and Dean wasn't about to get on the wrong side of the guy who'd helped save his brother's life.

_On the other hand…_ he thought again, eyes narrowing, as the physician somehow meandered his way on to the disgusting subject of bunions...

Fortunately, just as Dean's temper was ready to snap, a loud beeping had the good doctor muttering apologies, and hurrying away.

"Well, thank you Doctor Kildare!" Dean had murmured angrily under his breath, before pushing open the door to Sam's room. But the murmur turned into a shout of fear, when his gaze collided with a wet floor, an overturned plastic cup, and a barely conscious little brother sprawled out in the spilled water.

Two long strides, accompanied by some colourful language, and Dean was down on his knees, tapping Sam's face.

Breathing a small sigh of relief when lids fluttered open to reveal dazed, blue-green eyes, Dean studied the kid's face.

"Sam? Can you hear me?"

Dean frowned at the sluggish response of his brother's pupils.

"Oh, great job Sam!" He scowled, but carried on with his gentle examination. "Of all the _stupid_… you're a real dumbass, ya know that? What the hell were you doing out of bed?"

Dean was still growling out his disapproval when his fingers encountered a bump, and with a small gasp of pain, Sam lost consciousness, driving Dean's fear up another notch.

"Sammy?" Tapping his cheek garnered no response, and Dean was beginning to panic.

Supposing something was seriously wrong? What if hitting his head for the second time in the space of a week had caused a bleed in his brain?

_A haemorrhage?_

Dean inwardly cursed that damn doctor again, reached for the call button on the bed, and renewed his efforts in bringing Sam round.

"C'mon wake up! Sam? _Wake the hell up!_"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam felt someone pulling at his eyelids, then a bright light cut sharply through the darkness, blinding him.

"Minor concussion…" was muttered softly somewhere above him, answered by a harsh grunt of approval from nearby.

"The scans were clear, but, given his previous head injury, I'd prefer him to stay for another night. Just in case."

"Sure." Came a hoarse voice.

"I'll give him something for the pain and nausea when he wakes up…"

"When?"

A small surprised pause ended with the softer voice asking "When what?"

"When will he wake up?"

"Hard to say for sure, but soon. When he's ready." A small rustling, as something was stowed away in a pocket. "I have to finish my rounds, but call me if there's any change, or if he's sick. Try to keep him calm; Sam might be pretty disoriented when he comes round, and any additional stress won't help."

A weary sigh sounded from across the room, just before its owner answered "Ok. And, uh… thanks Doc."

"Not a problem."

Quiet footsteps were followed by a soft snick as a door was opened, and a _thunk_ as it closed again.

Sam got the feeling he was now alone in the room with a very angry wild animal.

He struggled to open his eyes, but someone seemed to have attached heavy weights to the lids. A presence moved to stand by his bed, hovering over him, and the animosity was almost tangible.

"You awake?" And Sam finally recognised the voice, kept soft and low, but with a worrying steel edge to it. "Sam?"

"_Hunnnhhh?_" Was about all Sam could manage as a reply, and the frosty reception it bought him, told Sam that wasn't going to be good enough. He tried harder. "_D'nnn?_"

"Yeah, it's me." His brother's voice was still soft, the steel turning to relief, but he still sounded exceptionally pissed off.

Little details were creeping in, things Sam was just starting to take note of. Like the feel of something running under his nose, cool air hissing through his nostrils, and there was something soft wrapped tightly round his head.

_Bandage?_

_Again?_

A memory of a falling cup… water splashing on the floor…

Sam suddenly remembered. And it told him several things.

One, why his head hurt.

Two, the reason his brother was pissed off.

And three, that Sam wasn't necessarily getting out of this one alive.

His eyes cracked open at last and sure enough, there was Dean, face pale with concern, but jaw and eyes hard with anger.

"_Y… you 'kay D'n?_" Sam mumbled, suddenly feeling guilty and worried all at once.

"Oh yeah, Sam. I'm just peachy!" Dean snapped in reply, and Sam winced in pain. "Have you any idea what it was like, huh? Finding you on the floor like that?"

Either Dean hadn't noticed Sam's discomfort, or he was too distraught to care, and he began pacing in agitation, tearing a hand through his hair every few seconds.

"God Sam! I thought you were…" He shook his head, eyes gleaming with moisture. "Never mind. I just can't believe you!"

Sam felt confused. And sad.

_Of course I know what it's like. I found Dad, remember?_

_All this? Over a cup?_

"_I d-donunnerstand…_" he muttered, brokenly.

Dean spun round and glared hard at his little brother.

"You wanted to leave this place so badly, you put your life at risk, Sam!" Dean hissed angrily. "You _selfish _bastard! You're so willing to throw your life away in Dad's memory, but you don't care what it'll do to me!"

Sam stared at him, blinking against the growing headache.

"_I…_"

"What?" Dean stepped closer to the bed, then leaned down, almost nose to nose with his brother. "You gonna give me some pathetic, clichéd platitudes now bro? How we should get out of here and hunt in the name of _Dad?_"

"_I-I'm s-sorry…_" Sam's head started to spin, stomach churning. And worst of all… "_M'thirsty_…_ I was th-thirsty… needed w-water…_"

Dean gaped at him, then grabbed at something on the bed, shaking it under Sam's nose.

"See this? It's a _call_ button Sam! You use it to ask for _help_!"

Sam blinked at it a few times before replying, whilst Dean resumed his pacing.

"_D-didn't want…_" Sam rolled his face away, swallowing a gasp as pain spiked through his head. "_W-wanted…_"

"Right! It's all about what _you_ want… " Dean finally stopped pacing and took a good look at his little brother, then stepped warily towards the bed, eyes widening with worry. "Sammy? You ok?"

"_H-head… h-hurts…_"

Sam had little warning, just the final, sudden, _violent_ churn of his stomach.

Hot bile flooded his mouth like water from a cracked dam, and the next thing he knew his in-patient shirt was warm and damp.

But once he started, he couldn't stop.

Panicking, choking, trying to struggle into a sitting position, the all too familiar ringing noise in his ears drowned out his brother's worried voice.

"Shit!" Dean knelt and quickly slipped an arm behind Sam's back, gently pulling him up and rubbing his back, allowing the kid to vomit in safety. "Take it easy. It's gonna be ok, I promise. Just relax..."

Sam scrabbled desperately at the nasal canular, trying to get it off his face, gasping, glassy eyes rolling wildly in their sockets like a frightened colt.

"C'mon Sammy, slow it down!"

Dean tightened his hold on the kid, pinning his flailing arms down with one hand, and cupping the back of Sam's head with the other.

"Sammy, look at me." Dean gazed down at his struggling brother, and softened his voice. "C'mon look at me... that's it; just keep your eyes on me. Slow it down... nice and easy now."

Sad, watery eyes peered up at him, and gradually, Sam began to calm down.

But tears spilled over, ran down his face, and his body shook with exhaustion.

"_I'm r-really sorry, D-Dean…_" he whispered sadly. "_J-just wanted w-water… **so** thirsty…_"

Dean stared at him.

"That's really all it was?" he uttered in disbelief.

When Sam nodded tiredly, Dean glanced at the dry, chapped skin of his brother's mouth, and sighed, feeling guilty as hell.

He'd sure laid a lot of crap on Sam's shoulders in the short time the kid had been awake.

And that wasn't fair. Being scared was one thing, but to make his brother sick...

Picking up the now empty cup, and filling it with water, Dean gently pressed it to Sam's lips. His heart clenched with sorrow when the kid drank greedily.

"I... I'm so sorry kiddo, I didn't mean to get angry." _But you scared the crap outta me! "_Next time, just use the call button, ok?" Dean chided softly, taking the empty cup away. "Speaking of which…" he pressed the dreaded button. "You were supposed to be gettin' out today, kiddo. But the doc wants you in another night."

At Sam's inquiring glance he added "minor concussion when the floor came up and hit you over the head, dude." Dean smiled, and put on his best 'Bobby' voice. "Them floors are nasty creatures."

His little brother just stared at him, completely bewildered.

"_Wha?_"

Dean sighed deeply, and laid his little brother gently back against the pillows.

"Never mind," Dean muttered soothingly, pulling the covers up to Sam's chin. "Just... get some rest. But Sam?" He stared down at the kid, eyes full of fierce determination and love. "We're gonna talk about this."

A flash of lucidity on Sam's face surprised him, but not as much as the sad statement that followed.

"_Why? Yadonwan... wannatalkboutanythin'anymore."_

Nodding slowly, Dean considered that in all its truth.

"Yeah. But we can't go on like this, dude. S'gonna get us both killed."

And it was his own words that triggered it off.

May be Sam wasn't the only psychic in the family.

Because Dean felt a sudden, dreadful foreboding, a sense that everything he'd ever said, everything he'd ever promised...

_...while I'm around nothing bad's gonna happen to you..._

...felt like a huge lie in the making.

A dark shadow, deep in his heart, spoke its warning that no matter what he tried, no matter what lengths he went to, Dean was going to lose Sam.

One way or another.

So he made the only decision he could.

Dean Winchester went into denial and shrugged it off.

For the first time in his life, he wasn't going to listen to his instincts.

Instincts were overrated.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Sorry about that. The idea for this second chapter started off so promisingly...**_

_**...and look what happened! **_

_**I've no idea where this ending came from, and had actually hoped for a feel-good conclusion. But I think Series 2 itself, wormed its way into my mind and set up a picket fence, demanding a kind of link to the events of AHBL part 1. And I often wondered if Dean **_**had **_**in fact (deep down) sensed what was coming. He just strikes me as far more sensitive than he lets on.**_

_**And I'm sure you've all had the same experience when writing a fic. You start out with certain solid ideas, but they become by-passed and ignored when the moment comes, and you have little choice but to go with it.**_

_**If that makes sense.**_

_**Probably not. **_

_**You can tell I've been on call again, eh?**_

**_Especially from the typos!_**

_**Cheers everyone. Hope this isn't too big a disappointment.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx **_


End file.
